Chapter 1 Summer #2
I’m exhausted. It turns out the Highland spa is in the middle of nowhere.
After my train to Inverness, I had to take an endless pre-booked cab ride through a million winding roads that headed farther and farther away from civilisation.
The views of Scotland were probably lovely, but I didn’t see them.
I spent the entire time stress-eating cake pops and refreshing the viral video of me sobbing like a baby.
It’s at over a million views now. My DMs are full of lipstick emojis, and several of my influencer “friends” have already unfollowed me.
It feels like everyone has seen the video.
God, what if my mum sees it? She’ll hate me.
If I’m honest though, my tipsy meltdown wasn’t entirely unexpected.
A couple of years ago, a therapist told me it’s a common ADHD burnout pattern.
I overwhelm myself trying to keep up with life until my brain runs out of batteries, then I have a mini meltdown and need to lock myself in a dark room for a couple of days.
Rinse and repeat. I’d worked every day for a month before the party. I didn’t stand a chance.
I’m usually much better at hiding when I get overwhelmed like that, though. It’s embarrassing that the part of me I try so hard to keep hidden has finally leaked out.
The resort manager smiles at me now from behind the glossy reception desk. “In light of…recent events, I’m afraid we’ve had to cancel your partnered trip,” she says calmly.
I snap back to the present. “What?”
She nods. “You’ll find that there’s a clause in the contract you signed regarding the…reputation of the influencer,” she says delicately. “We believe your current situation finds you in breach of it.”
It takes a few seconds for that to sink in.
There is a clause in all of my contracts which says if I do anything controversial, companies have the right to cancel brand deals.
I always assumed it was for if the creator said something bigoted or turned out to be a secret puppy killer.
“You mean…because I cried in a bathroom?”
She just shrugs, still smiling. “It would reflect negatively on the company if you were to be seen posting content here. I’m afraid we aren’t able to go ahead with the partnership at this time.”
My stomach sinks. Oh my God. This is way worse than I thought. Am I cancelled? For crying? “Um…” I try to think what to do next. I could call Lulu, but she does yoga every Friday evening, so she won’t see it for hours. “But why didn’t you call me? You knew I’d be travelling up today.”
Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches. “We attempted to,” she says coldly. “Service is intermittent up here at best.”
I catch myself. I’m being rude.
Be nice. Be bubbly. Be happy.
I shove down my anxiety with a smile. “I mean. Sorry, sorry! I’m a bit tired. Can I just stay here for the night, and we’ll sort it out tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid we’ve already given away your room,” she says.
“…Can I book into a different room, then?”
She shrugs sympathetically. “We’re actually fully booked.”
I look around the empty lobby. That seems highly unlikely.
I push down the sting of hurt. “Um. Okay. Is there anywhere else I can stay? Should I get a car back to Inverness?” I look out through the resort’s glass doors.
It’s almost fully dark outside. The woman gives me a strange look.
I realise I’m rocking nervously on the spot and force myself to go still.
Her red lips purse. “You could try. I don’t think the local taxi would be willing to drive all the way down to the city at this hour.”
“The local taxi?” I repeat weakly. “Um. Singular?”
“Yes, the nearest village is Dalbrae, and they only run one car this time of year.”
Right. Because I am in the middle of nowhere. Panic starts to set in. It’s getting dark, and I have nowhere to go.
“Maybe you could try an Airbnb?” she continues. “Some people in the village rent out rooms to hikers.” She turns back to her monitor and starts typing again, obviously done with me.
Stay nice. Stay smiling. Don’t get upset.
“Right. Thank you so much!” I chirp at her. She ignores me. I drag my case away from the desk and open up my Airbnb app. There are a few places to rent scattered in the nearby village, but they’re all booked. Panic rings through me as I widen the search.
This time, one listing pops up. I tap on it, and a photo of a wooden cabin fills my screen.
The Cabin, hosted by Cameron.
I greedily scan the description.
Set on the scenic farmland of Lochview sheep farm, The Cabin is a rustic, off-the-grid wooden cabin. A perfect overnight rest stop for hikers travelling through the Highlands.
A hiking cabin set on a sheep farm. Not exactly a luxury spa resort. But whatever. I quickly request to book for the night and then wait with bated breath. Come on, Cameron. I need you.
A notification pops up.
Your host, Cameron, has accepted your request.
Relief floods through me. Thank God. I knew I loved Cameron. A message flashes over my screen.
When will you be here
I check my maps app.
I’m about half an hour away but I need to call a taxi!
Thank you so much for accepting my request last minute!
After a moment of thought, I send the sparkle-heart emoji.
There’s a long, long pause until I eventually get a reply.
Fine
I breathe out a sigh of relief. Fine. Everything will be fine. I have a place to sleep, and I can work all of this out tomorrow. I bounce back to the reception desk.
“All sorted! Can you give me the number of that taxi, please?”
In the end, it takes the taxi over an hour to arrive at the resort.
The driver, a silver-haired man called Dougal with a Scottish accent so thick I struggle to understand it, chatters to me happily as he drives through the winding roads.
“Dinnae fret, ye’ll have a lovely time,” he tells me cheerfully.
“It’s a sweet wee farm. The lads will take good care of ye.
They’re so helpful to us village folk. Why, Fraser just fixed my pipes the other week. ”
I hum and nod, looking worriedly out of the windows.
I don’t know who Fraser is, and I’m too nervous about my current situation to care.
Night has fully fallen as we’ve been driving, and I can’t see anything beyond the few feet of grass and trees illuminated by the headlights.
I try to send Lulu my location in case I get murdered and realise my signal is gone.
Shit.
Eventually, the driver pulls up in the middle of nowhere. “Here we are,” he says.
I peer out of the window dubiously. In the beam of the headlights, I can just about make out a shadowy cabin surrounded by trees.
It feels a bit like the beginning of a horror movie.
I check my phone, hoping to message Cameron and ask him to confirm that he lives in the middle of the pitch-black woods, but then remember I have no signal. Great.
“Um,” I say. “Are you sure this is it?”
He nods. “Off you go, lass. Don’t worry, the Lochview lads will take good care of ye.
” He frowns. “Hey, while you’re here, if you see Alec, will you tell him to show his face down in the village?
It’s been damn near a year since anyone saw him last. People are starting to wonder if he died and it’s been covered up. ”
Oh God. I was right. There’s been an actual murder here.
“Right. Alec. Get him to tell people he’s not dead. Okay.” I waver. Dougal pointedly checks his meter. Because I am literally a people pleaser until death, that’s enough to have me unbuckle my seat belt, open the door of the car, and step out into the darkness.
As soon as I do, rain soaks immediately through my thin coat.
I wobble around the car, my heels sinking into wet grass.
The closer I get to the wooden cabin, the scarier it feels.
The doorway is a gaping black hole. Trees throw terrifying patches of darkness over the roughly hewn planks. Shadows pool at its base.
God, I can’t stay here. This isn’t an Airbnb. It looks like something out of a true crime documentary. But what can I do? Get back into the taxi and ask to be driven…where exactly?
“It’s okay,” I mumble to myself. “You won’t die in the scary murder cabin.”
There’s the sudden crack of a twig snapping behind me. “Not good enough for ye, princess?” a deep Scottish accent rumbles. I yelp, spinning around.
A giant is standing behind me, holding a lantern.
Seriously. I have never seen a man so huge. He’s a mountain wearing a plaid shirt. I do a double take at his broad shoulders and massive biceps. When he lifts the lantern higher, the gold light illuminates his face, and something electric prickles through my belly.
Oh.
This man is wild-looking. Messy brown hair jammed under a beanie. A rough, stubbled face. A scar cuts down one of his cheeks. Green eyes run over me, and I shiver like I’ve been touched. “You’re Cameron?” I manage. “Hi!”
He grunts, clearly annoyed. “You’re late.”